Kate Bush’s first collection of entirely original material since 2005 – last summer’s Director’s Cut contained reworkings of earlier albums – is well named. A creepy hush pervades the record, as though everything was muffled beneath a dense blanket of snow. Singing in a soft sing-song, Bush sounds, in the best sense, only half-awake, the words tumbling out in dream-like trance. Imagine Hounds Of Love re-recorded from the bottom of a well in deepest midwinter, with the electricity having just failed. It’s sublime but a bit eerie too. 50 Words For Snow is marketed as a Yuletide album but, listening to it, the last thing that springs to mind is Bush in a patterned jumper squaring up to the business end of a Christmas cracker. In fact, the record feels deeply spiritual – you could, without much of a leap, imagine the hymnal ‘Lake Tahoe’ soundtracking a midnight mass from your childhood. Granted, there’s a step up in tempo on the title-track, where 4AD-style ‘80s guitars swirl about a duet between Bush and a very Gandalfian Stephen Fry, with results that suggest Dead Can Dance soundtracking Harry Potter. Generally, though, the prevailing mood is cool contemplation – this is palpably the work of someone who has cut themselves off from the hubbub of the everyday and is perfectly happy to be at one remove (Bush has lived in semi-recluse since the ‘90s). Had she released it during her late ‘70s/early ‘80s pomp, 50 Words For Snow would probably have been categorised as engaging curio but not really worthy of a place incanon. Considering the scraps fans have had to do with in the years since, however, it is difficult not to see it as anything other than a glorious return, no matter that it’s more likely to send a chill down your spine than warm your Christmas cockles.